Making Harry Happy
by Summer SoLo
Summary: After Ron is confined to the hospital wing, a depressed Harry tries to find happiness by asking out Millicent Bulstrode, to everyone's confusion.
1. Chapter 1

_Making Harry Happy_

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All copyrighted material is used without permission and no profit is made from this work.

**Summary:** After Ron is confined to the hospital wing, a depressed Harry tries to find happiness by asking out Millicent Bulstrode, to everyone's confusion.

**Timeline:** AU sixth year.

**Chapter One**

"It was my fault," Harry muttered as he and Hermione stared down at Ron's sleeping form. "I shouldn't have let him play."

"Harry, you couldn't have known," Hermione told him gently.

"I knew something wasn't right," he growled. "I knew it."

Hermione sighed and put a comforting hand on Harry's knee. Last weekend had been the opening Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and Ron had been hit with a jinx shortly before the match. The other members of the team had noticed Ron's odd behavior, but had chalked it up to his usual pre-Quidditch jitters and ignored it.

The jinx caused excessive sleepiness, and Ron had passed out in midair. Harry had seen him fall off his broom and had flown to intercept him, catching Ron just before he'd hit the ground. Ron had suffered only minor injuries, but Madam Pomfrey was having a hard time sorting out the exhaustion curse that had been used against him—if, indeed, it had been a curse, rather than a potion or a cursed object. Without knowing the nature of Ron's ailment, no one knew how to cure him of it, and he was having trouble staying awake for more than a few hours at a time. Even when he wasn't sleeping, he was often groggy, and lately he had taken to babbling about strange things in his sleep.

"What if he doesn't get better?" Harry wondered. "What if he gets worse? What if one day he just goes to sleep and never wakes up?"

Hermione's jaw clenched. "He won't."

"He might," Harry countered flatly. "He might have been slipped some sort of slow-acting or badly brewed poison, Hermione. He might die, like…"

Hermione swallowed, feeling her eyes burn with the threat of tears. It had only been a few months since the Department of Mysteries, when Sirius had fallen through the Veil. Harry had been coping well, all things considered, but Ron's predicament certainly wasn't helping Harry deal with his grief.

"He could die," Harry said again. "He… he could die just like… like Sirius."

Hermione didn't know what to say. She couldn't very well say that she would stop Ron from dying—somehow that would imply that Ron was more important than Sirius, that Sirius could have been saved if they'd been a little more determined. She couldn't say that they would save him when Madam Pomfrey, Professor Snape, Professor Sprout and even Professor Dumbledore were currently stumped.

"I'm tired, Hermione," Harry said suddenly. "My parents, and Sirius, and now Ron. This war, this war with Voldemort is coming and I've no idea how I'll survive it, let alone defeat him. I just… I don't know what to do anymore. I'm not sure if I can keep going. Moreover I'm… I'm not sure I want to _try."_

Hermione gripped his shoulder, and he put his hand over hers briefly before standing up. He muttered a goodbye and left the the hospital wing.

Hermione stared dully at the door as it swung shut behind him, at a loss. Voldemort was rising and good people were dying and now Harry was wavering and Ron was sick and she didn't know how to help either of them. She didn't know how to fight Voldemort. She didn't know how to ease Harry's suffering. She didn't know if Ron would recover.

She shook her head, frustrated, and put her face in her hands. She had to do something, had to find whoever had cursed Ron and make them confess, make them reveal the cure. She had to keep Harry from faltering and keep Ron from dying and keep Voldemort from triumphing and put the world back together, make it all make sense, make everything be the way it should. She just didn't know how.

Yet.

* * *

Harry was still depressed come morning, especially after Madam Pomfrey refused to allow him to visit Ron before breakfast. The nurse insisted that Ron needed his rest and sent Harry away, where he met up with Hermione on the way to the Great Hall.

As usual when Harry was deeply upset or nervous, Hermione practically had to force him to eat. By their sixth year, Hermione had gotten a bit better at it—or a bit pushier at it, depending on how one looked at it.

"Drink this, Harry, you'll feel better," she insisted, lifting his goblet up to his lips. Harry had to open his mouth or risk a chin covered in pumpkin juice; irritably he took a swig for her, then tore a chunk out of the roll she practically smushed into his teeth. Eventually, Harry started feeling better; he stopped fighting her somewhere around the eggs and began feeding himself.

"Thanks, Hermione," he told her when he'd had enough food to qualify as a decent meal. "I'm sorry I've been so down lately. You must think I'm a pain."

"Nonsense," she said. "We're friends, Harry. You're going through a lot and someone's got to cheer you up."

Harry smiled at her, and from then on he did seem cheered. He went down to double Herbology without dragging his feet and actually managed to concentrate on Professor Sprout's lecture. He spent Potions commiserating with Seamus about what an evil git Professor Snape was and ate lunch without being force-fed. He even managed to be enthusiastic about the afternoon's Charms lesson, and by the time they went to dinner he was in high spirits, no doubt looking forward to visiting Ron after they ate. Hermione, who hadn't left his side since they'd walked down to breakfast together, finally felt comfortable leaving Harry to his own devices and went to the Ravenclaw table to speak to Anthony Goldstein about her Arithmancy homework.

Which was why she didn't realize something was wrong until one-fourth of the Great Hall went deathly silent, as if the entirety of the Slytherin house had vanished. The Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors looked round in alarm and were quick to find the cause of the lack of commotion, especially since every Slytherin in the Great Hall was currently staring at it.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was sitting at the Slytherin table.

Hermione's jaw dropped and she went quite still, as did most of the rest of the school. Pansy Parkinson, sitting directly across from Harry, looked absolutely livid. Goyle to her right was staring at Harry in hopeless confusion, and on Goyle's other side Draco Malfoy's face was twisted in rage. What was Harry up to? Was he trying to get himself killed? Sitting down without invitation at another house's table was rude, and given Gryffindor's history with Slytherin, to say nothing of Harry's, his presence was likely to incite a riot.

Before any of the Slytherins could decide how to handle their least favorite Gryffindor having the audacity to plop down at their table, Harry turned to his right a bit, looked Millicent Bulstrode square in the eye and said, "Millicent, will you go out with me?"

A giggle came from somewhere on the other side of the hushed hall and quickly cut off, as if whoever had made it wasn't sure if he or she were supposed to laugh. Otherwise, the silence continued unabated, all eyes riveted on the Slytherin table.

A few more tentative laughs finally sounded, at which point Millicent stopped staring at Harry in utter disbelief and looked askance at her fellow Slytherins, hoping they might explain Harry's madness, but they were still frozen in horrified fascination.

"Will you?" Harry prompted finally.

"Will… will I what?" Millicent asked, sounding quite lost.

"Go out with me," Harry said, as though it was perfectly natural for the arch-nemesis of Voldemort to ask out a girl from the house that boasted more dark wizards than any other. "I was thinking tomorrow, if you're free."

Millicent rolled her eyes. "All right, who put you up to this?"

"Put me up to…? I don't know what you mean." Harry shook his head and smiled at her. "Anyway, there's Hogsmeade tomorrow—would you like to go together?"

She rolled her eyes again. "Sure, Potter, I'll go to Hogsmeade with you."

She had intended to finish this statement with "right after I drink the Draught of Living Death," but Harry's sudden grin startled her, made the words die in her throat. "Great!" Harry said happily, getting to his feet. "Meet me in the entrance hall after breakfast, yeah?"

"Right," Millicent said with a snort.

Harry stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled out of the hall, smiling. The rest of the student body and most everyone at the staff table stared after Harry in shock, until Hermione leaped up and chased after him. Her sudden motion jolted the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors out of their stupors and they dissolved into scandalized whispers.

The Slytherin table stayed frozen for quite some time, until at last Draco Malfoy recovered enough to choke out, _"Did… you… just… agree… to… go… on… a… date… with… POTTER?"_

"Don't be ridiculous," Millicent told him, looking offended at the very idea. She picked up her fork and stabbed it sharply into her food. "It was probably just some lame Gryffindor stunt. I just said that get him to go away. He's _Potter,_ for Salazar's sake."

* * *

One would have assumed most of the school to be buzzing with gossip about the incident, but in all honesty most people found the prospect of Harry Potter asking out Millicent Bulstrode too random and bizarre to be worth thinking about; by the time dinner was over, most people had forgotten (or rather, repressed) the whole thing (including Millicent).

That left Hermione to explain what had happened to the infirmary-bound Ron, who took it better than she expected.

_"HE DID WHAT?"_

"He asked out Millicent Bulstrode," Hermione repeated miserably. "Today at dinner."

"You're _joking."_

"No, I'm not."

"Then he is!"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so, no."

"Then why isn't he in the hospital bed next to me?" Ron demanded. "You can't ask out Millicent Bulstrode unless you've had a serious brain injury! Maybe he's under the Imperius Curse or he's eaten some poisonous chocolates or been snatched by someone who took Polyjuice to impersonate him and didn't realize that under no circumstances would _anyone in their right minds_ ask out _Millicent Bulstrode!"_

"Ron, I…" Hermione gulped. "I have something to tell you."

Ron groaned. "Please, don't, Hermione. I've had enough news for one day. Unless Malfoy got run over by the Knight Bus or Snape's leaving Hogwarts to go teach at Durmstrang, save it for later, okay? Oy. I'm already missing Hogsmeade weekend and Madam Pomfrey's got no idea how to cure me and she's saying if I don't clear up soon I might have to transfer to St. Mungo's, so now that my best friend's gone round the bend I think I'll just go back to sleep before life gets any worse."

Hermione gave him a thin smile as Ron nestled down into his pillows. "Don't worry, Ron," she said. "Everything's going to be fine. I'm going to figure out what happened to you and you'll be out of the hospital wing soon enough."

Ron yawned. "I know, Herm. It'll work out alright. Always does in the end."

Hermione nodded. "Yes. It always does."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The following morning, Millicent Bulstrode was standing to one side of the entrance hall with Malfoy, Crabbe and Daphne Greengrass, waiting impatiently for Goyle and Pansy to show up. Goyle had tried to snag one last muffin from the breakfast table as they were leaving, and had upset Pansy's glass of pumpkin juice all over her robes. She had doused him with an entire jug of milk and informed him that he was buying her a new set of robes just as soon as they got to Hogsmeade, and both she and Goyle had gone back to the dormitories to change.

"Where is that great buffoon?" Malfoy grumbled. With a little more flourishing than necessary, he flicked his wrist to twitch the sleeve of his robes up and reveal his wristwatch. Millicent rolled her eyes as he made a huge show of checking the time. His mother had sent the watch to him in yesterday's post, and he had been taking every opportunity to show it off. The only way to get Draco Malfoy to shut up about whatever newest item he had recently received or purchased was to buy him something better.

"He hasn't been gone long," Crabbe said loyally.

"How would you know? Can you even tell time?" Malfoy demanded, still holding his arm up in front of his face and pretending to read the time in the hopes that someone would comment on his watch.

"Forget Goyle," Daphne said, "he could have stopped to fight a dragon on his way to the dormitory and he'd still take less time than Pansy. We're better off going to Hogsmeade and enjoying ourselves til dinner, and then when we come back we should only have to wait another hour for her."

Malfoy snickered. "I do so love the Greengrass sense of humor."

Daphne tried not to swell with pride, but it was obvious that she was pleased by the praise. "By the way, Malfoy, that's a lovely watch."

"Thank you," Malfoy said, beaming at her. "It's goblin-made, you know. My mother had it imported from Switzerland. The goblins there are really—"

Millicent tuned out. She had heard all about Malfoy's watch twice already. Daphne had too, but Daphne was a sucker for compliments and knew that letting Malfoy rant was a sure way to receive more of them, because Malfoy considered complimenting people part of pleasing his audience and did it as often as was necessary to remain the center of attention. Bored, Millicent thought about chatting Crabbe up about Crabbe's new owl (his owls had an unfortunate tendency to perish in mysterious and bizarre accidents), but Crabbe wasn't much of a conversationalist. If he had an original thought he felt it necessary to check that Malfoy said it was okay to think, and Crabbe always seemed at even more of a loss without Goyle at his side.

Though it was tedious to lean against the wall and watch Filch checking names off the list of students leaving for Hogsmeade, there was a certain comfort to it all, a dependability that Millicent had grown to enjoy. She had been close friends with Draco, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle and Daphne since starting at Hogwarts, and by now it wasn't difficult to figure out how most of her days would go. Given the morning's events, Millicent knew that she was going to stand here and be bored for another ten to thirty minutes. Malfoy would blather about his wristwatch until Pansy came back. If she arrived before Goyle she would fish for compliments on her appearance, but as soon as Pansy saw Goyle she would spend the rest of the day wailing about how her robes were absolutely _ruined_ (even though the house elves would have them spotless by morning) and how they were _new_ and _expensive,_ and how Goyle had absolutely no grace or class or charm or wit. Pansy would keep up the tirade against him while they went to Hogsmeade, got her new robes, ate lunch and wandered around. Malfoy would try to distract Pansy from her incessant attacks on Goyle with all the things they might purchase and do, and Pansy would have none of it, and finally Malfoy would tell her to shut up—out of annoyance with Pansy or loyalty to Goyle was anyone's guess—and they'd have a row and then Malfoy would storm off with the boys and Millicent and Daphne would be left listening to Pansy rant about Malfoy until it was time to come back to school. By that point each half of the group would be a bit lonely without the other and they'd sulkily band back together. Millicent couldn't bother being irritated by her own boredom or Malfoy's blather or Pansy's imminent tirade—it was all too predictable, and she liked her life predictable.

Potter apparently hadn't gotten that owl.

She saw him coming down the marble staircase with Mudblood, or Beaver Face, or SPEW-When-I-See-Her, or Library Hag, or whatever the Slytherins were calling Hermione Granger these days (after so many years of name-calling it was really getting hard to keep track). Millicent considered pointing them out to Malfoy, because Malfoy versus Potter was always good for a laugh and Millicent knew that Potter Ranting took precedence over any ranting Pansy might be ready to do about Goyle's clumsiness. Malfoy was better at ranting than Pansy was; he ranted more to entertain his audience than to vent. He was also much more creative at insults and if one got tired of his ranting he was easy to distract.

As Millicent contemplated this, Potter detached himself from Insert-Scathing-Nickname-Here's side and came walking over; he was halfway to the Slytherin group before Millicent remembered his strange little stunt the previous day. She glared at him, trying to make it quite clear that under no circumstances was he welcome to speak to her, but Potter didn't even slow down.

Millicent heard Malfoy's meaningless chatter taper off as Potter approached. "What do _you_ want?" Malfoy demanded.

Millicent relaxed. Potter would say something stupid and insulting to Malfoy, the two would argue, and eventually his sidekick What's-Her-Rude-Pseudonym would come and drag him off while muttering about how Malfoy wasn't worth it so that Potter wouldn't be revealed as a complete and utter halfwit in the face of Malfoy's cutting remarks. Potter wasn't trying to follow up on that idiocy from yesterday at all. He had probably just wanted to mouth off to Malfoy, or maybe to laugh at Millicent and say that the Hogsmeade thing had all been a very lame joke—in other words, get hexed into oblivion by Millicent and her friends.

"Hey, Malfoy," Potter said calmly. "Crabbe." He nodded to Daphne—whom he only knew by sight, not by name—then looked at Millicent. "Millicent, are you ready to go?"

The four Slytherins stared at him for so long that the line of students waiting to get past Filch decreased by half. Once again, Malfoy was the first to recover.

"You're not _serious,"_ he said, staring at Potter as though Potter had asked if Millicent would like to be eaten alive by trolls.

Potter gave Malfoy a politely puzzled look. "About what?"

Malfoy glared at him, confused and outraged. Then he caught Millicent's eye, and realizing she was looking to him for guidance, tried to pull himself together. Malfoy was their unofficial leader, if for no other reason than he wouldn't accept any other position in the group. Millicent had every faith that Malfoy would fix this.

"You _really_ want to take Bulstrode to Hogsmeade?" Malfoy asked, as though no one in their right minds could want this. Seeing Millicent's wounded look, he added, "You know perfectly well that she's _way_ too good for you." Millicent smiled at him, mollified.

Potter shrugged. "I don't know, actually—I don't know Millicent well at all. I just thought we could have some fun today in Hogsmeade together. I'm sorry, did you not want to go after all?" he asked her.

Millicent gaped at him. He sounded _anxious,_ as though he wanted nothing more than to spend the day with _her._ A Slytherin. A Slytherin who wasn't exactly beating the wizards off of her with a broom.

She looked at Malfoy again. Malfoy would make this stop happening. If anyone could make Potter go away it was Malfoy.

Malfoy regarded Potter through narrow eyes. "She doesn't have other plans, Potter. We just have to discuss something before you two leave."

Millicent felt, for the first time since she was a very small child, a sudden urge to burst into tears. She had been _betrayed._ Betrayed by house and friend and leader. What had she done to make Malfoy cast her out? To make Malfoy _give her to Potter?_

"Oh," Potter said, smiling. "All right then."

"Mind giving us some privacy for a moment?" Malfoy asked in a casual tone that didn't quite disguise the maliciousness lurking beneath his words. Millicent could have collapsed in relief. He wasn't throwing her to the Gryffindor lions. He had a _plan._ Quite probably a very nasty plan that would hurt Potter's ego and maybe Potter's bones and give them all a good laugh.

"Sure," Potter said. "I'll go wait up by Filch. Take your time."

As soon as Potter was out of earshot, Crabbe asked, "Are we friends with Harry Potter now?"

Millicent, Malfoy and Daphne looked at him in disgust. "That, Crabbe," Daphne said, "is why everyone says you're stupid."

"So what are we going to do?" Millicent asked. "Are we going to sneak out another entrance and leave him waiting there all day, or just wait til we're out of the castle and beat him up?"

_"We_ aren't going to do anything," Malfoy said. _"You_ are going to go to Hogsmeade and find out what he's playing at."

Millicent blanched. "You're joking."

"You're mental," Daphne added.

"You're confusing me," Crabbe complained.

"Look," Malfoy said, "Potter's a worthless piece of dung, but he's smart enough to know better than to ask out a Slytherin. He's up to something, and I'm not going to let him get the better of me. He has some sort of plan, and we need to figure out what it is so we can ruin it."

"So Potter _doesn't_ want to go to Hogsmeade with Bulstrode?" Crabbe asked uncertainly.

"Don't be daft," Malfoy sniffed. "Stupid as they are, no Gryffindor could ever be delusional enough to think a Slytherin would stoop so low as to _date_ one of those filthy ingrates."

"Then why on earth did he ask?" Daphne demanded. "He had to expect she would say no."

Malfoy sighed. "I don't _know_ why he asked, Greengrass, that's why I'm sending her. Sooner or later he'll slip up and we'll be able to beat him at his own thoroughly bizarre game."

"You really want _me_ to go to _Hogsmeade_ with _Potter?"_ Millicent demanded. Surely he didn't mean it. Surely he wouldn't make her do something that revolting.

"I want you to figure out what he's up to," Malfoy repeated firmly.

"And what if I can't?" Millicent asked desperately. "Then what do I do?"

Malfoy shook his head, frustrated. "It's the only plan I've got, Bulstrode—deal with it."

"What about Gruesome Granger?" Daphne asked. "She's got to know what Potter's on about."

Malfoy nodded. "That's true. While Bulstrode's off with Potter, I'll go talk to her."

Crabbe's face lit up. "D'you need me to come? I can hold her down."

Malfoy considered for a moment. "Nah. Someone's got to wait here for Parkinson and Goyle and tell them what's gone on, and I want Greengrass to keep an eye on Potter and Bulstrode—do one of your Disillusionment Charms and follow them around."

Daphne bit her lip. "Well… I'm still working on that Disillusionment Charm, you know… I only nail it about seventy-three percent of the time…"

"Good, then it's settled," Malfoy said. Daphne opened her mouth to argue but Malfoy stopped her with a look. "Crabbe, when Parkinson gets here, tell her we'll meet her at the Three Broomsticks for lunch. Greengrass, catch up with Potter and Bulstrode as soon as the charm's done. Come on, Bulstrode."

Malfoy marched across the hall towards Potter. Millicent looked beseechingly at Daphne, but Daphne had already ducked back behind Crabbe to hide herself from view, her eyes closed and her wand drawn, concentrating on her Disillusionment Charm. Millicent looked instead at Crabbe, who smiled kindly and leaned over to whisper in a conspiratorial sort of way, "Listen… if you kiss Potter, I don't think you should tell Malfoy about it."

Millicent's hands balled into fists and she was halfway through drawing back her arm to slug Crabbe in the mouth when Malfoy called, "Come _on,_ Bulstrode!"

Reluctantly, Millicent dropped her fist and went to follow Malfoy. There weren't many students left waiting to get out the doors, and Potter was loitering by Filch, who was shooting Potter nasty, suspicious looks. Potter grinned when he saw Malfoy marching towards him, Millicent following like a prisoner of war, and the fact that Potter was smiling in the direction of Slytherins made Millicent quite certain that any minute now she would wake up and realize she'd been slipped a Nightmare Nougat.

"Here you are, Potter," Malfoy said, smiling challengingly at Potter. "Do try to show our dear, _dear_ Millicent a good time, won't you?"

"Sure," Potter said. "See you at dinner, Malfoy."

Malfoy sneered furiously at Potter and Millicent couldn't help feeling sorry for Malfoy, even if he _was_ making her go off to Hogsmeade with the Boy Whom the Dark Lord Was Going to Kill Any Minute Now, Honest. Potter had no right being civil to Malfoy. It was just rude.

Malfoy stormed off, snarling at Filch when Filch tried to hold him up. Potter turned to Millicent and beamed at her. "Shall we then?" he asked.

Feeling rather like her mouth was full of dragon dung, she said, "Yeah."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

They didn't talk much as they walked across the Hogwarts grounds. Most of the students were already far ahead of them, partly because of how long they'd waited to leave and partly because Millicent was walking as if going to her execution, wishing with every step that Potter would just go ahead and reveal his fiendish plan so that she could curse him and be done. Potter walked sort of jauntily, which seemed odd to Millicent, but she didn't know him well enough to know if he was ordinarily jaunty or not, and when she had occasion to run across Potter he was usually in a bad mood anyway, given his history with Malfoy.

"I like your cloak," Potter said at length. "It's rather fetching."

Millicent longed to hit him, to demand to know what his problem was, to see if she could pull off the Cruciatus properly—but no. She was under strict orders from Malfoy. Find out what Potter's plan was and turn the tables.

"Thank you," Millicent muttered.

Potter led the way into Hogsmeade, Millicent stomping after him. "Would you like to go to Zonko's?" he asked. "It's a bit crowded this early, but if you go late in the afternoon they sell out of some of the good stuff."

"Whatever." Malfoy hadn't said she needed to _encourage_ Potter.

So they went to Zonko's, which was packed full of loud, jostling students, most too intent on their purchases to pay much attention to the Slytherin who somehow wound up going to Hogsmeade with Harry Potter. Millicent was distinctly grateful for this; if it weren't for the fact that Malfoy and Potter loathed one another, she might have thought they had cooked up this scheme together to humiliate her.

Millicent glanced around, hoping no one she respected was in the shop; thankfully the clientele was comprised mostly Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and a few younger Slytherins that Millicent didn't know too well. Her gaze caught on a display of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes merchandise, and she longed to go examine it, but knew she couldn't with Potter at her elbow. The Weasley twins had refused to sell to Slytherins while they were at Hogwarts, and no self-respecting Slytherin would be caught dead in the Weasleys' shop, but that didn't mean the Slytherins weren't interested in their products. The Weasleys had only recently begun selling their exclusive merchandise through other joke shops, and just that morning Millicent had been talking with Daphne, Pansy, Tracey Davies and Carla Moon—the other two sixth-year girls in Slytherin—about going to Zonko's and finally getting some Extendable Ears and a new Skiving Snackbox (the one Millicent had stolen off a Ravenclaw last year was almost empty). She would have to wait until next Hogsmeade weekend now, or at least tomorrow; she couldn't have Potter laughing to his Weasel buddies about how she had stooped so low as to buy their products.

Unfortunately, Potter noticed her eyeing the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shelf. "See anything you like?" he asked her.

"No," she snapped.

"Well, I can recommend the Decoy Detonators and the Extendable Ears. They're dead useful. I have some spare Ears back in my dormitory; I could give you one if you'd like to try it out."

"Uh… sure." So that was it. He was trying to get her to accept a cursed object. Maybe even several in the hopes that she would pass them out to her Slytherin friends, the bastard.

Potter gave her a quick grin and turned to a display of Dungbombs. He browsed shelf after shelf, not talking much but staying close to Millicent. She wondered how mad Malfoy would be if she ditched Potter now. Surely the twenty-three minutes she had already spent in Potter's company would be long enough to satisfy Malfoy. He'd probably be deeply impressed she had lasted this long, in fact. Malfoy certainly wouldn't have made it halfway to Hogsmeade.

While Millicent was pondering the very disturbing idea of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter on a date, Potter collected an armful of purchases and then smiled at her. "Well, I'm ready to go, then. Are you going to buy anything?"

"Uh, no," Millicent said. She would come back tomorrow and get what she wanted, once Potter had been trounced for daring to trifle with the Slytherins and she and her posse of housemates were enjoying themselves and their Potter-free existence.

"Aren't you into jokes?" Potter asked as the two of them lined up for their turn at the counter. "Or did you just not see anything you liked?"

Millicent wasn't sure what to do. Should she lie? Should she actually give him personal details? Should she shove him down and beat him with a bottle of Balderdash Bubbles?

"Uh… my family hasn't sent my month's allowance yet, and I spent last month's," Millicent lied. "I won't have any more money until I get my next post."

"Oh, is that all?" Harry smiled at her. "If there's something you want, I can buy it for you, if you'd like."

Millicent stared at him. He was offering to buy her things. Things that she would probably use against him or his fellow Gryffindors. What in the name of magic was _wrong_ with him? Was Potter even wealthy enough to spend money on a whim? Would he really waste Galleons on a practical joke, or was this whole Hogsmeade date a setup to something far more sinister than she'd thought, something he would do anything to see succeed?

In the end, Millicent decided it didn't matter and made Potter buy her a case of Dungbombs, six Skiving Snackboxes, a twenty-four pack of Decoy Detonators, a pair of Shield Gloves and eight Extendable Ears. She had hoped that telling him to buy her loads of expensive joke products would make him balk and give her an excuse to tell him to piss off, but no such luck; he gladly picked up everything she asked for and carried it up to the counter without complaint. She tried not to be too terribly disappointed by this; at least, if she had to pretend to date Potter all afternoon, she was getting something out of it.

He insisted on carrying the bags, which was just weird. It also meant Millicent couldn't ditch him without losing her purchases, and she definitely wasn't keen on that; she could just see Malfoy's face when Millicent outclassed him with all her lovely new Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes gear. He was liable to sulk for a week (which was about how long it would take his mother to send him something flashier than an armload of joke shop merchandise).

As they left the shop, Millicent spotted a pair of green snow boots that vanished into thin air a moment later—boots she was pretty sure belonged to Daphne. Millicent relaxed; at least she wasn't completely alone with Potter.

When she saw where Potter was leading her next, she desperately wished she was alone with Potter; at least then there'd be no witnesses.

Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop was a frequent destination for Hogwarts students on a date. It wasn't expensive like some of Hogsmeade's finer restaurants, it wasn't loud like the Three Broomsticks, and the atmosphere catered to couples who fancied each other. It was also tacky, insipid, and the last place in all of Britain that Millicent Bulstrode wanted to go.

Especially with Harry Potter.

Potter held the door open for her and gave her an expectant look.

Millicent held very still and gave him an incredulous look.

After a moment Potter seemed to realize something was wrong. "Have you been here before?" he asked.

She had. A Durmstrang boy had taken her here several times during her fourth year. A decent-looking, wealthy, ambitious Durmstrang boy from a good family who said he admired Millicent's strength and confidence, asked a lot of questions about her mother's important work at the Ministry and her father's lucrative potions business, and had dumped her shortly before returning to Durmstrang. Kissing boys who would make good husbands but were so hopelessly dull that you hoped they would break up with you, that was what Madam Puddifoot's was for.

It was _not_ for doing _anything_ with _Harry Potter._

Potter frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked nervously. "I'm sorry. I'm not too good at this whole dating thing. I just thought…"

As Potter trailed off, Millicent realized exactly why Malfoy had sent her off to Hogsmeade with Potter. It was because Potter was an evil git who had to be stopped at all costs, and she, Millicent Bulstrode, was in a position to stop him. So stop him, she would.

"No," Millicent said, "it's okay." Struck by sudden inspiration, she added, "It's just, I told you, I don't have any money."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Potter said with a little relieved chuckle. "It's on me."

Millicent smirked. If nothing else came of this bizarre little episode, she could at least put a dent in Potter's Gringotts account.

Potter gestured for her to enter and this time she did so, trying not to falter when she saw a couple of Slytherin fifth-years seated in the back and a Ravenclaw seventh-year who'd asked her to the Yule Ball sitting with the Bones girl from Hufflepuff. All eyes turned to stare at her and Potter as they came in, but Potter either ignored them or failed to notice them entirely. He went to a table and pulled out a chair; only after Millicent had sat down in the other chair did she realize he'd been pulling it out for her, at which point she shuddered and hoped Potter would assume she was just cold.

Potter took the chair instead and smiled over the table at her. "So! Tell me more about yourself."

Millicent regarded him with disdainful suspicion. "Like what?" she asked coldly.

"Oh, I don't know, anything. We don't know each other very well, do we? I mean, being in separate houses and all."

_Very separate,_ Millicent thought grimly.

Before she could respond, Madam Puddifoot approached their table. "What can I get you, m'dears?" she asked.

"I'll have a coffee," Potter replied, and looked expectantly at Millicent.

"Coffee, coconut cream pie and raspberry cheesecake," Millicent said, twisting in her seat to read the menu board over the counter. "And cherry pie. And lemon meringue. In fact, why don't you bring over some of everything?"

She looked triumphantly at Potter, waiting for him to shout that he wasn't made of gold, or at the very least look hurt and say that he didn't see why she kept taking advantage of him.

Potter had that audacity to smile at her, then at Madam Puddifoot. "Yes, that sounds brilliant. Oh, and a pitcher of pumpkin juice as well, please."

Madam Puddifoot looked downright gleeful at the large, expensive order; her eyebrows were raised so sharply she was running out of forehead. "Of course, of course," she said sweetly and hurried off to assemble a tray.

"Parvati Patil says they've got a great selection here," Potter said, "but I've only been here once and I didn't stay long. It'll be nice to sample everything."

Millicent felt she deserved an Award for Special Services to Whoever Was Stupid Enough Not to Want Potter Dead for not hitting him in the face until he fell unconscious.

"So," Potter said, "ah…"

He gave her a hopeful look, which she prayed was because he wanted her to help with the conversation and not because he wanted to hold her hand, or kiss her, or anything so preposterous and vile. Millicent wasn't even willing to help with the conversation, and if Potter wanted her to do anything but remain in the same room and not cause him pain (which was hard enough) then he was going to have to live (or not live, as Millicent would prefer) with the rejection and Malfoy was just going to have to understand that no curse that his high-ranking Death Eater of a father could have taught him was enough to keep Millicent from killing Potter if he so much as thought about touching her.

"…So, ah…" Potter began again when she didn't speak. "Um… er … you and Malfoy."

Millicent perked up. He was trying to ferret out information about Malfoy! Of course. That made perfect sense. It was weird—why not just torture her for information? That would be a lot more pleasant for her—but it was still an acceptable excuse for this insanity. "Yeah?" she asked.

"You're, um… you're friends, right?"

"Of course, yeah." Millicent gave him a malevolent smirk, waiting for his sad attempt to nonchalantly ask her for sensitive Slytherin secrets, already dreaming of just how scathing she would be when she told him that she knew what he was up to and wasn't going to play his stupid game.

Potter started to say something else, then stopped, frowning. "But, um… you are _just_ friends, right?"

Horror washed over Millicent, a horror so complete she was quite sure she belonged in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's.

He was asking if Malfoy was her boyfriend.

He was asking if Malfoy was her boyfriend.

He was asking if _she was single._

As Millicent descended into madness, some dim corner of her brain idly noted that perhaps _this_ was Potter's true goal—breaking Malfoy's circle of friends by giving them dementia. Just then Madam Puddifoot returned, and Potter didn't notice Millicent's mental breakdown because he was busy with the wide array of cakes Madam Puddifoot was enthusiastically telling him all about.

_Tell him we're in love,_ whispered a faint little voice in the back of her mind. _Tell him Malfoy and I are deeply in love but my parents don't approve of our union now that Lucius Malfoy's been unmasked as a Death Eater and so I'm keeping it a secret and that's why I agreed to come out on a date with Potter to cover up the fact that me and Malfoy are together and so Potter has no chance with me and why is this happening what did I ever do to deserve this why why why why—_

As the little voice gave way to hysteria, Potter turned to Millicent and held a slice of pie out to her with a smile.

Once again, Millicent found herself jolted from her revulsion by Potter's cruelty. He knew he was making her sick. He _had_ to know—how could he not? He was doing this on purpose because he was an evil little monster and she was going to make him _suffer_ for doing this to her.

Millicent took the pie from Potter, muttered her thanks, and thought longingly of how good it would feel to smash the pie plate against Potter's scar.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Draco was so angry at Potter that he had already searched Scrivenshaft's, Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks and was halfway to the Hog's Head when he remembered that if one was looking for Hermione Granger one looked for books.

Corner and Stone's Books was Hogsmeade's largest bookstore, run by Albert Corner and his wife Patricia, formerly Miss Stone. Though they carried primarily fiction, they did have a small nonfiction section and sure enough, Draco found Granger browsing through the potions section.

Draco watched her for a moment, wondering how best to approach this. He didn't think threatening and arguing were going to get him results. In fact, he couldn't think of anything that _would_ get him results; short of some sort of mind-altering curse he had very little hope of getting Granger to tell him anything at all.

So he decided just to dive in and leaned against a shelf a few feet away from her, folding his arms over his chest. "Fancy meeting you here," he drawled.

"Sod off, Malfoy," she said, her tone absentminded and weary, which made her words sting worse than they would if she'd sounded angry. Her best friend was pretending to seduce a member of Draco's entourage and she was trying to _ignore_ him? He was going to—

No, he wasn't. Though he had very little chance of getting anything out of her, fighting with her would definitely _not_ get him what he wanted (which was Potter's head on a tea tray). He needed to have a conversation with her, which he had never done before—unless a long string of insults counted as a conversation—and that meant he couldn't let her rile him.

"Sure," he said, "just as soon as you tell me what your little friend is up to."

Granger didn't reply. At first he thought she was just coming up with a good retort—he'd bickered with her often enough to know that sometimes she needed a moment to think or to get over her blinding rage or whatever—but when he realized that she had no intention of replying and might not have even heard him he was so deeply wounded he almost drew his wand.

Catching himself, he raised his voice and called, "Granger," and she jumped.

"Are you still here?" she asked, sounding genuinely surprised, which made him so furious his fingers unconsciously curled with the urge to strangle her.

"Yes," Draco snapped, "I am _trying_ to talk to you."

Granger frowned, looking even more startled. "What about?"

"Potter!" Draco rolled his eyes. If this kept up they'd be dueling any second.

"What about Harry?"

"What about… are you _kidding me?"_ he demanded. "In case you hadn't noticed, he's wandering around somewhere with Bulstrode. Didn't she try to kill you once in second year?"

"Oh, yes," Granger said, as though she'd only just remembered. "At the dueling club, when I got the… ooh, _Most Potente Potions!_ I haven't got my own copy yet…"

And she turned back to the bookshelf, forgetting Draco entirely.

Draco was trying very hard not to overturn the bookshelf on Granger's head when a blur of shifting color hit him squarely in the chest, driving the wind from him and ruining his attempt to calm himself with deep-breathing exercises.

_"Madam Puddifoot's!"_ the color blur wailed, wrapping itself around Draco. _"Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop!"_

"Greengrass?" Draco asked uncertainly, reaching up to pat her on what he thought might be her back.

"He bought her _presents!"_ Greengrass howled. _"Loads_ of them, from Zonko's Joke Shop! And then he… he… he took her to _Madam Puddifoot's!"_

"That horrible little tea shop where people go to snog?" Draco demanded.

_"Yes!"_ she wailed. "Don't you see? It means he… he… he _really likes Bulstrode!"_

Draco couldn't tell if she was crying, as her movements caused her body to shift in colors and textures, but he had an uneasy feeling that if she wasn't crying she was threatening to do so. Awkwardly he held her against his chest and stroked what felt like her hair, trying to focus on what this bit of information might mean and not on what he was going to do should she burst into tears and expect him to comfort her.

A sigh met his ears, and he looked up to see Granger looking at Greengrass in defeat. To his further concern, she looked like her worst fears had been confirmed. Like she was… afraid Potter might like Bulstrode, too?

What did that mean? Did she not know why Potter had asked Bulstrode out? Did she have a thing for Potter? Did she think Potter might really be serious, and therefore the world must be coming to an end?

"Granger," Draco said dangerously, "I demand that you tell me why Potter is out on a date with Millicent Bulstrode."

Granger blinked. "You expect me to know?"

"Of _course_ I do!" Draco snapped. "You're his little sidekick! Of course you know what he's up to!"

Granger shook her head very slowly, looking thoughtful. "I don't. He's never mentioned her before, and I think I would have known if he fancied her. I can't even begin to guess what—"

Greengrass suddenly released Draco and straightened up. "Hang on… we're in the potions section."

Draco's eyes narrowed at Granger. "Who are you planning to drug, Granger?"

"He's going to drug Millicent!" Greengrass yelped in alarm.

Granger sniffed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Then why are you here?" Draco demanded.

"Because _someone_ has hurt or cursed or poisoned Ron. I'm going to find out who and I'm going to find out how to cure him."

Draco snorted. "Right, _you're_ going to save him where Madam Pomfrey and half the teachers in the school have failed?"

"In case you haven't noticed," she said, in the exact tone he had used earlier, "that's what Harry, Ron and I _do._ We've been doing it for years."

Draco's eyebrows rose. Come to think of it, it must be second nature for Granger and her friends to circumvent problems that overwhelmed teachers, ministry officials and Death Eaters alike. What a disturbing thought.

Greengrass was staring at Granger thoughtfully—at least, he was pretty sure; the Disillusionment Charm made it hard to tell. Finally she said, "You might try _Grindelwald's Grimoire._ It's all very dark magic, but if someone's cursed him with something powerful enough to make him almost comatose chances are it's in there."

Granger's eyebrows rose in surprise, but she smiled warmly. "Thank you. By the way, your Disillusionment Charm has gone a bit…" She pulled out her wand and rapped Greengrass over the head with it. Greengrass promptly vanished, which made it hard for Draco to keep giving her a wounded look—how _dare_ she assist Granger like that?

"So," said Greengrass's disembodied voice, "you said he's never mentioned fancying Millicent."

Granger nodded. "Not once."

"Is that common for him? Not talking about who he likes?"

"Well, yes," Granger admitted, "but I'd have noticed, I always do. Harry's pretty transparent, at least to me, usually."

"And you don't know why he's asked her out?"

Granger shook her head. "No. I can tell you this, though… if he were planning to hurt her or something, if he had some ulterior motive, I would know and if it were dangerous I would have talked him out of it. My best guess is that he's just a little… well… depressed."

"He's depressed, so he _asked out Millicent?"_ Greengrass asked skeptically.

"Well, sort of," Granger replied in a cautious tone. "I think he feels like… like everything's getting away from him and the war with Voldemort—" Granger ignored Draco's shudder and Greengrass's small scream— "is kind of… making him feel like things aren't the way they should be. Like if it weren't for this mess, and this war, no one would think twice about Harry asking out whoever he wants, but because he's the Boy Who Lived, people expect him to hate Slytherin and only date girls who are… well…"

"Not Millicent," Greengrass finished dryly. "Right. Well, then. Malfoy, if Granger doesn't think Potter fancies her, then—"

"Are you seriously _listening_ to her?" Draco demanded, gazing incredulously at the spot last known to contain Greengrass. Damn, Granger was good with magic.

"Think about it," Greengrass said. "If they _were_ up to something, she would just insist that Potter's been madly in love with Bulstrode all along, not tell us he's never looked twice at Bulstrode in his life and she has no idea what's going on."

"Then what _is_ going on?"

"Dunno. I'm gonna go—" Greengrass's voice took on a sour tone— "watch them some more. I'll see you at lunch."

Draco heard her footsteps retreat and then saw the door open, seemingly of its own accord. He frowned as he looked back at Granger, who was peering intently at book titles for _Grindelwald's Grimoire._ Could she have planned this, to make Greengrass deduce what she had? Probably not—Granger and her little friends didn't know the Slytherins well enough to have predicted that Draco would come talk to her and Greengrass would come in moaning about Madam Puddifoot's. Then again, Granger _was_ smart, for all she was annoying, bossy, arrogant and Muggle-born. Maybe she was playing him.

Draco couldn't let her, as a matter of pride. His pride was already wounded enough, between Potter's attempt to steal Bulstrode from Draco's fold, Granger ignoring him and Greengrass analyzing Granger well enough to get Granger to have a civil conversation with her and recast her faulty Disillusionment Charm.

It wasn't fair. Draco was charismatic. Draco was intelligent. Yet Draco was the one struggling to get a Muggle-born loser sidekick to give him information. How much more humiliating could life possibly get?

While Draco was feeling sorry for himself, Granger perused the rest of the titles in the nonfiction section and then headed over to the counter. Realizing he would never be able to live with himself if Greengrass got more out of Granger by accident then he did on purpose, Draco hurried after her.

"Hello, Mrs. Corner," Granger called as she approached the counter.

"Hermione, dear!" Mrs. Corner said cheerily. "Is it another Hogsmeade weekend already? You're the first student we've had in here today, as always. How's that Ginny doing?"

"Well enough," Granger replied. "She's, ah, dating someone else now, I'm afraid."

Mrs. Corner sighed. "Oh, that's a shame. Not for her, of course, but she was such a _nice_ girl and I had such high hopes for her and Michael. She was always a pleasure—and a pureblood, too. They say the risk of having a squib child is decreased by half if both parents are pureblood, and Muggle-borns have non-magical children all the time—no offense, dear."

"I'm not interested in having children," Granger said, "and if I had them I wouldn't mind if they were magical or not, actually, but I wanted to know if—"

"And who's this?" Mrs. Corner interrupted, noticing Draco lurking behind Granger. "Is this your new beau?"

Granger looked around in confusion, having no idea who Mrs. Corner meant, and when she realized Mrs. Corner was talking about Draco her face twisted in an expression of alarm and revulsion that Draco assumed mirrored his own. "Wha… no! No, that's just… um, a boy from school, he's not… no!"

"Oh, I see," Mrs. Corner said in a knowing tone that made Draco quite sure she did _not_ see what was actually happening (though how anyone could see Draco hovering behind Granger and think "he's trying to get her to tell him why whatever higher power in charge of Millicent Bulstrode let Harry Potter ask her out," Draco didn't know).

Mrs. Corner gave him a smile that dissolved into a thoughtful frown, and Draco felt a different kind of horror come over him. Since his father's imprisonment, people often looked at Draco the way Mrs. Corner was looking at him now. Until recently Lucius Malfoy had been a wealthy, influential and well-connected politician, and those who didn't know him by sight or name before his arrest and imprisonment certainly knew who Lucius Malfoy was now. Draco looked away, wishing he didn't look so much like his father.

"Are you a Malfoy?" Mrs. Corner asked, in an awed sort of voice that implied surely no Death Eater children should be permitted to walk around freely, let alone attend the same school as Harry Potter.

"I'm a Black," Draco muttered. It was true enough, and though it wasn't much better at least it wasn't as bad.

"Oh," Mrs. Corner said. "I thought the Blacks were gone now, or married off. My people are Stones, although my grandmother was—"

"Mrs. Corner?" Granger interrupted. "Sorry, but I'm in a bit of a hurry—would you happen to have a copy of _Grindelwald's Grimoire?"_

Mrs. Corner refocused on Granger, Draco's parentage forgotten. "Oh, I don't think so, dear. That's a pretty rare book and we don't get a lot of requests for it, what with it being awfully dark magic and all. Hold on a minute, I can check the back stock—"

And she hurried away into a storeroom. Draco breathed a sigh of relief, silently thanking Granger for her intervention and then hating himself for doing so. He went to glare at her, only to see her looking at him sympathetically. She was actually feeling pity!

Draco gaped at her. He would have expected her expression to make him angry—to think, such a lowly creature as Granger, daring to pity _him_—but it didn't. If anything it made him even more grateful to her. No one had ever felt pity for him. His father was a ruthless murderer; why should they? Especially given how proud he'd been, to be a Malfoy, to be _Lucius Malfoy's son,_ to be everything that now made people like Mrs. Corner give him disgusted looks. How strange it felt, to be ashamed of his upbringing, to feel the disdainful glares of people who knew his family's twisted secret, to get pity from people like Hermione Granger.

It occurred to him quite suddenly just why Granger pitied him: she knew what it was like to be made to feel worthless because of her family. Draco felt dizzy, appalled to find himself regretting that he had ever made her feel the way Mrs. Corner had just made him feel.

"No, we don't have it, dear," Mrs. Corner said, reemerging from the storeroom. "I can order it if you'd like, but it will take me a while. As I said, _Grindelwald's Grimoire_ is really rare and I don't have the same connections as Flourish and Blotts. They could probably find it for you, but old Mrs. Flourish was murdered by Death Eaters in the last war with You-Know-Who and they make it a point not to carry dark magic."

"I have it," Draco found himself saying, to his complete surprise. "It's in the—" He stopped himself just before saying "Malfoy collection." "Family library," he finished. "I'll lend it to you."

Granger stared at him about like he'd been staring at Potter that morning. "Um…"

"Well, isn't that sweet," Mrs. Corner said, beaming at him in that nauseatingly knowing way again. "Is there anything else I can get for you, Hermione, dear?"

"Er, no," Granger said. "I'll just take these." Granger set some books down on the countertop along with a few Galleons. Mrs. Corner kept up a steady stream of chatter about Granger's purchases while she bagged the books and made change. Then, to Draco's surprise and embarrassment, Mrs. Corner handed Granger her change and handed Draco the shopping bag.

Draco took the bag, at a loss for any other option. He couldn't very well say he was a Malfoy and Malfoys did _not_ carry books for Muggle-born trolls like Granger. He started to extend the books to Granger when he caught sight of the worried look on her face and realized that as long as he had her books, he had leverage, tenuous though it might be.

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Corner," he said, and turned on his heel, marching for the door. Granger scurried after him; he could practically feel panic radiating off of her. He half-expected her to tackle him before he made it out of the shop.

"Books!" Granger hissed as the shop door swung shut behind them. "Malfoy, give—"

"What the bloody hell is wrong with Potter?" Draco asked coldly.

Granger let out a frustrated sound somewhere between a growl and a wail. "I don't _know,_ Malfoy. I honestly have no idea. But considering that Ron's been hexed and could very well be dying, to say nothing of Voldemort—yes, I said _Voldemort,_ and you look silly when you flinch—I don't have time to worry about Harry dating a Slytherin. If he's got a thing for Millicent Bulstrode, that's his problem. I have no idea what he's on about, though I intend to find out in between saving my friend's life and fighting a war against people like your father, and if I actually do stumble across some bizarre conspiracy of Harry's that doesn't include me or Ron then I'll be sure to let you know. Now _give me my books."_

To his complete disappointment, Draco actually believed her. She really _didn't_ know what was going on with Potter. He was wasting his time interrogating her. Wordlessly Draco held out the books, which Granger took, moving slowly and watching him with suspicion. Draco left her standing alone outside Corner and Stone's, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his cloak as he headed towards the Three Broomsticks.

Potter was, for reasons unknown, trying to seduce Bulstrode. Even Potter's own sidekick seemed oblivious to his motives. Draco was supposed to sort it all out, and he had no idea how. He had just had a very unusual and unproductive encounter with Granger, Greengrass and Bulstrode were probably traumatized for life, and Parkinson was going to be furious that Draco and Bulstrode and Greengrass had left without her.

It never ceased to amaze Draco just how much he hated Harry Potter.


End file.
